


An Extra Lap

by triedunture



Series: Sporty High School AU [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Sports, Facials, First Kiss, First Time, Foot Fetish, M/M, Oral Sex, Sports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-12
Updated: 2011-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-24 14:30:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/264551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas is on the high school swim team and Dean Winchester is the super-attractive, too-cool-for-him lacrosse player. They're both practicing late one cold autumn night, and Dean succumbs to exhaustion. It's up to Cas to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Extra Lap

_**Supernatural fic: An Extra Lap**_  
Title: An Extra Lap  
Author: [](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/profile)[**triedunture**](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/)  
Pairing: Dean/Cas  
Length: 3500 words  
Rating: NC17  
Warnings: PWP, high school AU (but characters are 18), hurt/comfort, oral sex, dirty talk, slight foot fetish

Summary: Cas is on the high school swim team and Dean Winchester is the super-attractive, too-cool-for-him lacrosse player. They're both practicing late one cold autumn night, and Dean succumbs to exhaustion. It's up to Cas to help him.

This was supposed to be a blanket!fic but the blanket turned into a towel and the cuddling turned into massage and I'm sorry, these things happen.

<><><><>

  
Cas was the last swimmer left in the pool. The rest of the team had left after their cool-down, but Coach Ellen had nailed Cas for schlepping in late to practice and had told him he had one more thousand to do, no excuses.

Cas had seen her hanging around behind the blocks during his first few flip turns, but after four hundred yards he'd stopped looking for her at the end of his lane and just concentrated on finishing. Coach was right; it wasn't fair to the rest of the team if Cas slacked. He came to a stop at the wall, panting warm, wet breaths into the humid air of the natatorium. Outdoor pools were great in the summertime, but Cas was glad his team had an indoor pool. Otherwise practices during these chilly autumn months would be a pain.

It looked like Coach Ellen had packed up and left already. Cas felt a small surge of pride that she'd trusted him to finish without her supervision. Maybe this meant she'd let him anchor the relay team this season. That was Cas's modest senior-year dream.

He hoisted himself out of the chlorine-sharp water and ambled into the men's locker room on shaky legs. The showers were out of hot water (bastard teammates had taken it all) so Cas soaped and rinsed as quickly as possible in the cold spray. His wet Speedo was discarded in favor of warm sweats and a hoodie. Cas never tired of that wonderful feeling of slipping into dry clothes after practice.

He grabbed his backpack, shut his locker with his Speedo hanging to dry outside on his lock, and shuffled his way towards the parking lot. Twilight was falling over the school grounds, quiet and navy blue. Cas decided to cut across the field; the lacrosse team had finished their practice long ago.

And yet, there was still one lone figure still jogging around the field's perimeter. Cas stopped short, wondering if he should just take the long way around. But that was absurd. Besides, the night air was dropping to freezing. Cas could see his breath. His hair, still damp, dripped chilled water down his neck. He wanted to get home as soon as possible.

He walked across the field, hoping his path wouldn't coincide with the lone runner; Cas wasn't the most social person in school, and in his experience, the jocks on the lacrosse team were to be avoided. Not that Cas had ever been a real target of their pranks, but these were the kind of guys who'd douse some sucker in chocolate milk during lunch, or spin some kid around at the urinal so he'd piss on his own shoes. Real class acts that Cas preferred not to socialize with.

As he approached the other side of the field, the lacrosse player was just turning the bend and heading towards him. Cas blinked at the sight. It was someone he actually knew: Dean Winchester. They had art class together. Dean had maybe spoken to Cas, like, twice, but he'd never been douchey either. And Cas had always thought he looked kind of cute. For a meathead.

Dean was jogging like a dead man, his feet thudding along the ground with all the grace of anvils. He was shirtless and drenched in sweat, his hair matted down with it. His eyes were barely open, like he was running in his sleep. And he was white as a sheet. He looked like absolute shit.

"Hey," Cas called. His voice was strained and gravelly, a side effect of drinking down too much chlorine. "Shouldn't you be done with practice by now?"

Dean pried his eyes open as he stopped a few feet from Cas, bending at the waist with his hands on his knees, panting like a locomotive. Cas waited for him to catch his breath.

"Got assigned some extra laps," Dean finally gasped, dragging his wrist across his wet forehead. A drop of sweat fell from his nose and hit the grass. "Coach was a real hardass today."

Cas groped for something to say in response; he knew so little about Dean, just that he sucked at perspective in class and played lacrosse and— Oh. "Um, isn't the coach your father?" Cas asked.

Dean nodded, still bent and breathing hard. "Nothing I do is ever good enough for him," he said. He didn't sound angry at all, just sad. So sad and tired.

Cas looked around the empty field. "But no one's here. You could just leave now." He paused. "I wouldn't tell anyone." It seemed important for Dean to know Cas was on his side.

A wicked smirk crossed Dean's lips and his eyebrow cocked at Cas. "Dad would know. He'd see it on my face the second I came home. Besides," he flailed a hand at the parking lot behind him, seeded with only a handful of cars, "he was my ride. May as well stay here and do the laps."

"What are you going to do, just walk home?" Cas meant it sarcastically, but when he saw the knowing gleam in Dean's eyes, his heart sank. They stood there for a long moment, Dean breathing and Cas watching.

Finally, Dean slapped his knees and stood up straight with a long groan. "I better keep at it, I got seventeen more of these to go." He wobbled a little on his feet, his limbs shaking slightly. "Whoa," he muttered.

Cas dropped his backpack on the grass and grabbed onto Dean's sweat-slick arms just as he sagged toward the ground. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Cas murmured, rubbing his palms up and down Dean's upper arms and shoulders, "you're freezing."

"Nah. Too hot. Burning up," Dean said, his words slurring a little. "Just a little dizzy, that's all."

"Come on, we have to get you warmed up." Cas hooked his backpack strap around his foot and swung it up into his hand. "Do you have a change of clothes?"

"Yeah, in my—" Dean swiveled his head toward an empty bench on the sidelines and groaned. "Bastard took my gear bag," he muttered.

Cas's mind sped into a panic. Should he call his mom? The police? Is this the sort of thing you called the police for? No. He looked over at Dean, leaning heavily on him. This is the sort of thing you take care of like a fucking boss. Maybe Cas didn't know how he was going to afford college next year, or what he was going to study, or how he was going to get a job in this economy, or when he was finally going to get a boyfriend, but goddamn it, Cas knew he could take care of one little lacrosse player who needed his help.

"It's all right. I keep extras in my locker. Let's go." And with only a minimum of grumbling from Dean, they set off across the field toward the locker room.

Dean shivered in earnest now, his entire frame wracked with shudders. He kept one arm looped around Cas's shoulders, leaning on him for balance. Cas, for his part, tried his best to keep them upright. Dean wasn't much taller than him, but he was certainly not built on lithe swimmer lines like Cas was.

Cas felt Dean's sweaty side press against him, soaking his hoodie in patches. It should have been gross, but Cas didn't mind. It helped that Dean didn't smell like an old sock; he smelled musky, almost pleasant. Like cedar chips or something.

They made it inside, where the air wasn't so frigid, and Cas sat Dean down on a bench next to his locker. He cranked on a shower to test the water, but no dice.

"Sorry, no hot water," Cas announced as he twisted his combination lock open. "Guess we'll just towel you dry and warm you up a little."

Dean pointed at the wet Speedo flopping against Cas's locker door. "You on the swim team?"

"Yeah." Cas felt the color rise in his cheeks and he determinedly did not turn around. He wasn't ready to face Dean, beautiful Dean, when he made fun of the tiny swim suits, or the fact that even the male swimmers shaved their legs for finals. Other guys could rag on him, fine, but he wasn't ready for Dean to do it.

But he didn't.

"Cool," was all Dean said on the matter. Cas turned to find him sitting there nonchalantly, shivering in waves. He didn't _look_ like he was being subtly ironic.

Cas tossed him one of the dry towels he kept stacked in his locker. "Here. Get your hair too. It's soaked."

Dean lifted his arms to towel off his hair and almost immediately hissed in pain. He flexed his shoulders in their sockets. "Pull-ups. About a million of them today."

"I'll do it," Cas said, taking the soft striped towel and draping it over Dean's bent head. He rubbed vigorously, up down up down, while Dean sighed in contentment. When Dean's hair looked dry, Cas swiped the towel across the back of his neck and then, more cautiously, around his shoulder blades in a circular motion. Dean arched his back like a cat, moaning like it was the best massage of his life.

"Why are you doing this?" Dean murmured, his head tilted to the side so Cas could towel off the taut tendon there. "You aren't even...well, anybody."

Cas paused in his ministrations, wondering how to answer that. "Gee. Thanks."

"Shit, no, you know what I mean." Dean's hand shot up and grabbed Cas's wrist, keeping him there behind Dean. "It's just— you're not even my friend."

Cas swallowed and tried to make his voice sound as flippant as he could. "I don't see any of your friends here right now, Dean."

Dean dropped his hand and his head. "Heh. Yeah, you got me there." He sighed. "Not a single one of 'em stayed after practice with me. They can be real assholes sometimes."

"I noticed," Cas said, resuming his drying-off of Dean's bare skin. His broad back, speckled with freckles, captured Cas's attention.

"Maybe I oughta join the swim team instead." Dean looked over his shoulder at Cas, flashing a pearl-white smile.

Cas snorted. "You're too bulky."

"You calling me fat?"

Cas liked this Dean, the Dean that teased and joked with him. It was so much more comfortable to speak to this Dean. But knowing there was a Dean just beneath the surface who was about to kill himself on a lacrosse field rather than go home to face his father? That put a damper on things. Cas had the sudden desire to find Coach Winchester and— What, punch him in the gut? Knee him in the groin? What could he do to make that man hurt like Dean was hurting?

These thoughts must have preoccupied Cas for far too long, because Dean added, "Hey, earth to Cas: you calling me fat or what?"

"No!" Cas blurted out. Then, more sedately, "Sorry, no. I just meant you're not, like, a straight line. You're all angles. Not very aerodynamic."

"Ah." Dean pursed his lips. "Angles."

The blush fought its way back to Cas's face. He hadn't meant to sound like he was checking out Dean's body, but now it was impossible to claim he hadn't noticed the contours of Dean's legs, the strong slope of his shoulders, the ridges of his chest and hips. His hand faltered on Dean's shoulder, the damp fabric of the towel slipping from his fingers to fall on the floor at Dean's feet.

"Oh shit, let me get that," Cas said at the same time Dean stammered, "No worries, I got it, you don't have—"

Cas didn't realize he'd sank to his knees on the cold tile floor in front of Dean until he looked up into Dean's eyes, the towel clutched in both their hands. Cas dropped his gaze quickly, unable to withstand the intensity in those deep green irises. And then he saw—well—he saw what was right in front of him: Dean's lap, complete with rock-hard erection trapped under his flimsy running shorts.

"Uh," Cas said helpfully.

With a belated reflex, Dean tore the towel out of Cas's hand and held it in front of his crotch. "What? You going to give me shit for getting hard or something?" Dean's voice shook with the same fine tremors that still ran through his frame. "Jesus, fuck you. It felt good, okay? Being rubbed down like that."

"I just— I didn't—" Cas tried to form a sentence, any sentence, but found he couldn't.

"And so what if I'm queer!" The shout echoed in the empty locker room. "Who gives a shit now, anyway? Go ahead: You wanna tell the team? My dad? All your little grape-smuggler pals?"

"No," Cas said. Now he was the one shaking. He'd dreamed about being out to everyone for a long time, but he'd never imagined it might look like this, like Dean's righteous anger, not an apology in sight. "I—I wouldn't do that."

"Oh, right, 'cause you want to be my _friend_ ," Dean sneered, ugly and dark. "Guess you won't be braiding me a bracelet now, huh? Guess you'll just go have a big laugh about—"

Cas couldn't take another second. He surged up on his knees and pressed his mouth to Dean's. He anchored his palms on Dean's tree-trunk thighs, feeling their muscles bunching and flexing. They kissed for only a moment, Dean shocked into silence and stillness for the entire time. When they parted, Cas blinked up at him and lifted a hand to touch his own lips.

"I am, too," he whispered. "Just—just shut up. I am, too."

"Holy shit," Dean said. He looked down at Cas as if he'd just discovered the Grail. "You're—? Holy _shit_." He dug a hand into his dark, spiky hair, causing it to prick up in bunches.

Cas was about to apologize for the kiss, say it was out of line, that they barely knew each other and Dean was in a vulnerable place right now and maybe they could get a coffee some weekend, or not, it was up to Dean, but then. Then Dean leaned down and cupped Cas's face in his rough, square hands, and kissed him like he was dying for it.

Dean's lips were still salty with sweat, and his hands were still chilly, but Cas couldn't find it in him to complain. When they parted for breath, he craved more of it, Dean's taste, his smell, his skin. He dared to lift his hands to press against Dean's barrel chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat there.

"This is crazy," Dean chuckled, shifting on the wooden bench. The towel fell away from his lap, revealing an even stiffer cock in his shorts. Cas watched it twitch with wide eyes. His hand crept down towards it. Dean watched it descend. "Oh man," he whispered. "Cas, you don't haveta—"

"I want to," Cas said. He hooked a finger in the soft green nylon shorts and tugged them down. Dean raised his ass up to help, and together they slid them off. Dean kicked off his running shoes and pulled off his socks as well.

"You'll get cold," Cas murmured, rubbing a hand across Dean's chilly foot.

"I'll be fine," Dean said, and kissed him again. When they parted, Dean looked down at him with a stern expression. "Listen, I haven't ever— I want you to know I'm totally clean."

Cas felt a small smile cross his face despite his shyness. "Me too," he said. "I haven't either." He gripped the base of Dean's cock and considered it thoroughly. Although Cas had never sucked someone off before, he'd had his own laptop long enough to get some ideas about how it should be done. He figured he'd start slow, since he wasn't sure how much he could take down his throat.

He lapped at the pink head with the flat of his tongue, marveling in the bitter taste, that texture of soft skin stretched hard and taut. He looked up at Dean, who was staring down at him with his perfect bow of a mouth hanging open and slack.

"Oh, god," Dean groaned. His hands braced against the edge of the bench, which creaked at the strain.

Cas took the head of Dean's cock into his mouth, just the first inch, just to feel it hot and dripping inside him. He pulled off and examined it once more; Dean was leaking precome like crazy. Cas swiped a thumb across the slit to spread it around. Dean had a fat dick, thick and angled, just like the rest of him. Cas smirked at the thought.

He could no longer deny how aroused he was at the sight of Dean naked on the locker room bench, splayed out for him. Cas had been ignoring his own erection, thickening in his sweat pants, but now he untied the drawstring and fisted his hard cock as well.

"God damn, look at you," Dean murmured. He was craning his neck to the side to get a better view of Cas jerking himself off.

Cas hummed in agreement and took Dean's cock back into his mouth, another few inches this time, heavy and pulsing on his tongue. He suckled gently, loving the feel of Dean's precome dribbling down his throat. He gripped himself tighter, not wanting to finish too soon.

With his eyes closed, Cas could explore Dean with his mouth all the better, cataloging all the different salts, all the myriad flutters of his skin with his tongue. The vein on the underside of Dean's shaft was a big hit; Dean's hand actually landed on Cas's shoulder and gripped there furiously. His balls were soft and musky, the smell of Dean concentrated down to the essentials. Dean crooned happily when Cas licked there, nipped at his pale inner thigh.

Cas hadn't thought he was doing anything that amazing; it was his first time, after all. But Dean was vocal in his appreciation, smoothing his hands down Cas's shoulders, the top of his head, and saying, "Oh, god, yes Cas, so good, so fucking good. Can't wait to suck you off later, want to make you come."

The whimper in Cas's throat was genuine, and Dean liked that too. "Aw yeah, you want to come, go ahead and come, Cas, come all over the fucking floor. Get yourself off while you're sucking me."

Cas felt all his nerve endings blink on and off like Christmas lights a second before he was coming, painting the gray tile floor in three thick white ribbons. One landed across the top of Dean's foot, and Cas groaned around the cock in his mouth at the sight.

"So fucking hot," Dean whispered, then he too was arching into his orgasm, his head thrown back with a choked cry. The sudden rush of fluid in Cas's mouth was surprising; he hadn't expected so much. He tried to drink it all down, but most of it ended up splattered across his cheek and dripping down his chin. A drop of it joined Cas's come on Dean's foot, and Cas bent to swipe his tongue from toe to ankle, lapping up what he could. He straightened quickly, wondering if he'd overstepped his bounds with that—maybe the foot thing was for committed relationships—and looked up at Dean, who was just wide-eyed with wonder.

"That," Dean said, "was awesome."

Cas wiped at his sticky face with the striped towel. "Thanks. Yeah, it was—"

"You have got to let me take you out for a burger," Dean blurted out.

"Wha—? Now?" Cas stammered.

"Sure. I'm starving, aren't you?" Dean grinned down at him and offered his hand. Cas took it and allowed himself to be hauled to his feet.

"Well, I guess I could eat."

"Great." Dean stood too, rubbing his hands up and down his bare arms. "I, uh, think that would make for a decent first date, don't you?"

"A date?" Cas fought to keep his eyeballs contained in his head, but recovered quickly. "Yeah, sure. Of course." He pointed toward the showers. "Maybe there's hot water now. You should shower before we go."

"Join me?" And Dean's grin was so dazzling, Cas just had to say, "Let me get the towels."

fin

  



End file.
